


It's bigger than we know

by Sterekschub



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, F/M, Hand Feeding, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Werewolves are Pets, chubby wolves, kind of don't know how to do more tags but I will think of them as they come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterekschub/pseuds/Sterekschub
Summary: From my tumblr and a weird, slightly kinky yet plot driven idea I had-When a human turns 18 they are given or pick a wolf as a pet. A wolf’s nature is to be compliant, pleasing to their master, and above all very, very soft. Of course a certain Mieczyslaw would open his mouth and claim the wolf that seems to be none of these things, but he won’t let Gerard Argent take the dark wolves head.





	1. Chapter 1

_A possibility for a story since drawing might be a little tough for me for awhile and I'm pretty sure this set up will be kinder on the eyes than tumblr for most people. Kind of a medieval a/u mismatch, but except some slow burn and chubby werewolves. Lots of chubby werewolves._

_I am going to put it out there this will involve some chubby kinks, maybe even fat shaming, and weight gain/ stuffing. If none of that is your cup of tea or offends you in any way, then you probably won't enjoy this._

* * *

Honey eyed, wild-haired Stiles Stilinski has always been an interesting child. Granted at nearly the age of consent, he’s hardly a child anymore, but since his first words (breath really), snark has been both Stiles’ greatest weapon and deepest downfall  Add to that the rather undiluted mix of never quite knowing when to shut his mouth and you get situations. All kinds of situations from putting his foot in his mouth, showing his superiority and often times causing arguments or just saying something really fucking stupid.

“I’ll take him.”

“Stiles, what are you-?“

His voice cracks over the words as he repeats them, “I said I’ll take him.”

Stiles isn’t sure what this particular situation is, but he’s pretty sure it’s closest to ‘really fucking stupid’. He’s never been afraid of much, despite being teased a lot. In fact, even with the heart problems and borderline asthma, Stiles has quite the sturdy head on his shoulders.

Pale brows twists in part confusion and horror, but mostly rage, “Have you lost your mind?”

And he’s usually clever, so much cleverer than this. Where his head is, Stiles has no clue, but he can’t let this happen. He just can’t.

He tries not to let his voice quiver, “I said what I said.”

So much cleverer than a sword aimed at him as he shields a bedraggled wolf looking on the verge of collapse.

So very, very clever.

* * *

Earlier that day-

The great hall is a bustle with movement. Dinner has been served and with it, great heapings of food and drink. There’s laughter and a million conversations filling the giant space.

Mieczyslaw (Stiles) Stilsinki, seventeen for just three weeks more, sits with his childhood friend, trying to eat as if it were any other day. Trying to eat as if his friend weren’t cooing and coddling his new wolf, making Stiles grip his fork all the more.

“Jesus, Scott, don’t you think he’s had enough?”

It’s not hard to see why Isaac is putting on weight at the rate he is. Being a young man of a more analytical persuasion, Stiles can see it’s at least a solid twenty extra pounds sitting around the young wolf’s middle.

Hell, it could be more but Isaac is tall. Really tall.

“I mean, are you really going to feed him all of that?” Stiles isn’t sure if he’s amazed by the idea, or revolted. Truthfully, when Isaac is in his wolf form as he is now, the weight is less noticeable, but when he’s human and all bare flesh, it’s much easier to see how much the already soft wolf has plumped up.

Not that Isaac’s owner and Stiles’s best friend, Scott McCall, seems to mind.

“He was a good boy today,” Scott’s almost puppy dog like face pouts as he hand feeds Isaac yet another piece of meat.

“Yeah. Okay,” Stiles mumbles, brow raised. He’ll be the first to admit he’d encouraged the whole vicarious living through his best friend so the displays of affection, the open showing of feeding and nurturing, he really had been asking for it.

Scott snorts affectionately, making Stiles come back from his thoughts with a frown. The teenager is wiping something from his wolf’s mouth and it’s tender and beautiful, but it also personally makes Stiles ache.

Isaac has been Scott’s for about two months now and the boy acts like he’s never known anything outside of Isaac. Isaac and his fluffy blonde hair and majestic blue eyes. Isaac with his ever softening stomach and vibrant smile.

Stiles shifts in his seat as he watches people continue to both eat and feed their wolves all around him. He’s asked himself many questions in the last few weeks as he’s watched Scott get closer to his honey haired pet. What was having a wolf like? What did the bond really entail and how much did they feel from each other?

And more importantly, why were the displays slowly starting to get at him?

Jealousy, Stiles will readily concede he has it. Mostly because Scott had been given the choice of several wolves and seems happier than Stiles has ever seen him. Stiles himself isn’t sure if he will have the choice or if one will be chosen for him. He hopes for the former, he can’t imagine getting stuck with a pet he can’t stand, or vice versa. Wolves are forever and the idea is both thrilling…and incredibly nerve-wracking.

They say when you see your wolf ‘you’ll just know’. Seeing Scott and Isaac together all these days, Stiles is beginning to wonder how true that is. Scott had been torn between Isaac and a younger wolf Liam, either would have essentially worked, but how had Scott known it was Isaac?  

_A shrug and movement of floppy hair, “I don’t know, Stiles. I just…did.”_

_“Helpful, Scottie, really helpful.”_

Wolves have many functions to their human masters, but usually, it’s a companion if nothing else. Though sexual relationships weren’t unheard of…they weren’t exactly encouraged. A wolf was a friend, a companion for life, not necessarily a partner. Some wolves never reverted back to their human sides while others preferred remaining nothing but human. Rules were set, never to torture or mistreat a wolf, but the leniency of wolf owner/relationship had become pretty lax in the kingdom of Beacon Hills. The main decree was loyalty, a wolf was always to be loyal and remain with its master, just as a master was never to lay an unwarranted hand on their wolf.

And if your wolf happened to be plump and happily sated most of the time…well…

Stiles saw how easily Isaac and other wolves took to belly rubs, making approving low growls that sounded close to purrs. It was a wonder though, those hushed whispers about predators, about wolves tearing people apart with their fangs…those rumors seemed to catch Stiles’s curiosity as well. It was hard to believe, nearly impossible really that a wolf could be anything by loving and soft…and yet…

Suddenly, his father’s coat billows across the room and shaggy-haired Stiles is pulled from this thoughts yet again. He stares as the older man passes, hands tensing. Something in the man’s hunched shoulders and form-something is clearly wrong.

“Dad?”

His father’s weathered face is more stoic than Stiles has ever seen it. And it’s almost scary how fast the man is moving. Focused in a way Stiles isn’t sure he’s ever seen him before, “Dad what–”

Two piercing grey eyes stop him with one quick glance. There’s a head shake that comes across harsher than any words. It tells Stiles not to ask questions and for the love of god, ‘stay where he is’.

But really his father should know that behavior like that is exactly what calls to him. Stiles frowns, opens his mouth to ask something, anything, but his dad is already gone.

Though, his silent warnings for Stiles to ‘butt out’ are still in the air.

What the-?

“Something wrong?” Scott mummers as Isaac huddles closer to him with a small whimper.

“I don’t-”

And then another man passes by, even more grizzled than Johnathon Stilinski and every hair of Stiles’s body stands straight on end.

Scott audibly gulps at the form, “Is that-?”

Stiles nods at Scott’s question. Not many had seen Gerard Argent, a man of nobility with a giant scar that ran the entirety of his body. It was claimed the claws of a wolf had nearly taken the man’s life as he’d valiantly saved a child about to be killed by a heaving, angry rabid wolf, but such claims were said mostly to be a myth.

A wolf attacking a human, such a thing was basically unheard of.

But the rushed and hurried movements, the grim expressions of both wolf and human alike, the whole room seems in a confused quiet.

“Oh god,” Scott groans. “No, no, no. Stiles, sit down.” He sounds like a flustered parent, reaching to pull at Stiles’ trousers to sit him back down.

Stiles isn’t sure when he’d gotten up but his shaky legs nearly upend the bench, causing him many annoyed looks. He gives a halfhearted apologetic wave and Scott groans as Isaac blinks, looking up at his master in confusion.

“Stiles-” it’s part warning, part pleading, but fully asking Stiles not to be nosy and put himself where he doesn’t belong.

Asking Stiles not to be Stiles, really.

There’s hardly any apology in his reply, “I have to Scott.”

Scott sighs in defeat as Stiles races out the door. Close enough he won’t lose his father or Gerard but not close enough to be seen. Luckily, wolves never left the barriers of the castle so he doesn’t have to worry about being smelt and rebuked before he even gets the chance to see what the commotion is about. Stiles just has to be quiet.

Which, for a spastic seventeen-year-old with long, knobby limbs and not a whole lot of balance is totally possible.

Yep.

-

He’s convinced either the loud brush and foliage or his even louder footsteps will give him away, but after calming his horse enough that it doesn’t immediately out him, Stiles finds the best place to hide fairly easily. He tries to quiet his breathing and watches with caution.

Gerard’s steps are focused as he surveys the forest area, as if searching for something, “This seems to be the location.”

John looks reserved and unsure as he slides from his horse, giving a slight grimace as his feet touch the ground. Stiles is sure he sees a sword at his father’s hip, which makes his heart thump the slightest bit. Just what were his father and the elder man searching for? And better yet, why did they have weapons? “Sir, this is…it’s only a rumor. There hasn’t been a rabid in decades, maybe even longer.”

Stiles’s ears perk. Rabid? Surely, they didn’t mean-

“Come now, Sheriff, that’s the talk of the simple mind. Surely you don’t believe such nonsense, or what am I paying you for?”

Stiles scoffs at the old man. He has to calm the sudden urge to throw a stone at the man’s giant balding head on his father’s behalf. No one insulted John Stilinski–except perhaps Stiles when they were having one of their many disagreements. But that was completely different.

Technically, Gerard is a Lord and above his father, but still. Even John seems slightly affronted. “Where did this information come from, exactly?”

Gerard smirk is small, but both rebuking and mocking, “You don’t trust this old man’s skill, Sheriff?” John opens his mouth, but the man doesn’t let him finish. “I suppose it must be nice to live in a disillusioned world where wolves are nothing but pampered pets. I’m afraid to say I know, ” He traces the scar on his face, “quite differently.”

Stiles is so focused on the conversation, on not rushing out and pushing the old man away from his father and using a few choice words, that he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the rustle or whine, he doesn’t see the tail sticking out of the brush behind him.

“Roscoe, stop,” he chastises his suddenly chittering horse. The animal has never made such a sound and even being as old and rundown as she is, the horse is reliable and Stiles admittedly sort of loves her crabby old ass.

But she’s going to give them away.

“Chill, baby, you’re going to–”

But he can see in Roscoe’s eyes that the horse is looking behind him, looking behind Stiles in a spooked, ready to bolt at any second kind of way. “What is it girl, what-”

And Stiles sees it. He’s not sure if he identifies what it is right away, but he’s sure it’s alive. Or at least, he hopes so. Black fur is moving up and down in a slow, but steady rhythm and he’s sure it’s a creature of some kind. Although, it can’t be what he thinks it is. The creature is bones and not a whole lot else. Certainly, it can’t be a-

The creature startles, jerking its head as if Stiles has purposely roused it from its slumber, looking right at Stiles widely. The teenager jumps slightly back at the surprised and clouded expression in the animal’s bright blue eyes.

Stiles can barely form a coherent thought other than, “Oh my–god.”

The animal bares its teeth, sharp and dangerous and every strand of fur seems to stand on end.

Oh my god.

The animal rises on all fours, suddenly looking as if it wants nothing more than to rip Stiles apart.

Rabid.

Gerard had been right.

Oh, Jesus.

Stiles is going to be the first person possibly ever to die by a rabid wolf. Because, as scrawny and emaciated as the animal is, it is indeed a wolf. The skinniest, nastiest looking wolf Stiles has ever seen. With fangs as sharp as knives and white as bone.

“Oh my god.”

It’s funny how Stiles’s first instinct isn’t to call to his father and Gerard for help, but instead clench up every muscle in his body, giving a defensive position and begging the wolf not to kill him. “Too young to die-” he mumbles into his elbow with a wail. Dammit, he isn’t even 18. Talk about unfair,  “Please don’t kill me.”

The wolf’s growl becomes less and less pronounced before it, quite surprisingly, stops completely. There’s a small huff even as the animal suddenly looks a lot less angry and a hell of a lot more tired. Stiles is sure the ebony colored wolf wants to collapse again and go back to sleep, but it doesn’t. It seems to either lose interest in Stiles, or has decided he’s not worth killing, and the animal turns to leave, bushy tail swinging behind him.

“Hey.” Stiles isn’t sure why the wolf turning it’s back to him annoys him, but it does. “Hey don’t–” but the wolf continues on. “Hey, I know you can understand me, you-”

“Stiles? Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” A panicked hand lands on his shoulder and his father’s worried voice fills his ear.

But Stiles isn’t looking at his father, he’s looking at the sword in Gerard Argent’s hand. The sword raised and pointed right at the wolf’s head. Ready to slice.

“No!” he screams. He’s unsure why, but there’s a sudden rush of adrenaline telling him he has to get in front of that sword. He doesn’t know this wolf and it’s done nothing but bare its teeth and look annoyed at him, but Stiles can’t let this happen. He just-can’t. “Don’t hurt him!”

Gerard’s face is flushed with anger at Stiles’ shouting, “Boy, hush your foolish mouth, can’t you see this animal is–” The wolf begins to growl again, teeth open in what looks like an attempt to bite at the sword. It’s not an offensive move–it’s completely defensive.

And it makes Stiles’ heart clench for some reason.

“He’s starving. Look at him!” Stiles pleads.

“Stiles,” his father cautions lowly. “He’s–”

Stiles chokes on an emotion he can’t name. It’s confusing, but the most real thing he’s felt in awhile, if ever, “He’s hungry and tired. He’s–please don’t hurt him.”

Gerard’s eyes zero in on John and he all but spits, “Sheriff, keep that boy of yours steady, or so help me-”

But Stiles has already escaped his father’s grasp and tossed himself in front of the wolf. The wolf seems surprised, maybe annoyed, maybe something else entirely. The animal stares at him and as their eyes meet, it’s like a clash of lightning and Stiles knows what he has to do.

The words fall from his mouth in a croak, “I’ll take him.”

When questioned about his sanity and hearing the panic, downright terror in his father’s voice, Stiles repeats, slightly louder “I’ll take him.”

Gerard sounds enraged, “Have you lost your mind.”

Stiles turns back to him, eyes determined and mouth set, “I said what I said.”

_So yeah..if anyone is interested I may do more and post on tumblr and AO3 (I just fail to know how to link and all that so that may take me some time to figure out :/) It will contain Derek weight gain and lots of chubby werewolves. Maybe some pictures will come later?_

_Here's my tumblr, if you'd like to join me in chubby stuff I make/reblog-https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sterekschub_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this feels a little all over the place. I'm not sure how angsty to make this. Anyway thanks eternally for the feedback and for reading :)

He recalls the laugh, mostly. The beautiful laugh that filled his days, the entirety of his world, for years on end. The house had always been warm, with just the slightest hint of vanilla swimming in a sea of lust.

Her lust and his happiness.

“Oh sweetie, you really have been eating a lot lately, haven’t you?” She teases the words with a grab to his belly, pinching softly, but firmly. “Trying to get a bigger belly for me like I wanted? What a good boy, you are,” She squeezes roughly and it’s almost at the level of pain, but he’s sure she’s still playing, still toying her fingers across his belly before reaching his thighs. She gives him a pointed smile before slapping them fiercely on either side. There’s always a look in her eyes, an annoyance he smells whenever she touches that part of him. As if she wishes he were different. “Shame about these though, huh?” His body--disappoints her, he knows that. She’s kind to him, though. Kind as she touches him, tutters at how fat he is, how she wants him to get fatter. She combs his fur, gives him the nicest collars and keeps him preening at how good he knows he looks and feels. He pleases her and he loves it. Their life is happy, the only life he can remember. And then--

Coldness, darkness. An empty belly and crawling, panting for both food and drink through the woods. So hungry, lost and disoriented. He may have been there hours, days, maybe even weeks. Time moved the same and yet meant nothing anymore. Hopeless and hungry, ready to perish without his master’s once loving hand to soothe him. What had he done? He’d howled the words, begged her to let him out, but she'd left. Calling him a failure. A waste. ‘Just as useless as the rest of them’’. She’d left him alone to perish until he truly felt mad. Had grown mad. Maybe his madness was showing him this even now. Fooling his eyes and worse his mind, making him see what he knows can’t be real.

“I’ll take him.”

The young human’s words are a scratchy ear sore to his senses as he blinks into bewildered almost terrified, bright brown eyes. This boy, this scrawny, long-limbed boy had jumped in front of the human’s sword. To save him.

Why?

The older human seems to be asking the same thing, but the boy repeats his claim again huddling closer until the human is grabbing his dark fur coat and pulling him closer. The immediate response is to bristle and nip at the pale arms tossed around him, but he’s sure the old man with the nauseatingly familiar scent is more his enemy than the spiky-haired, doe-eyed boy. He tries to toss him off, but the boy has a stubborn hold.

“Come on, Wolfie, I’m trying to save you,” he mumbles.

Why?

Humans hated him. He was a failure, she’d said so. She’d said no one would love him or want him. And this boy, his scent is too strong and...he doesn’t like it. He nips again, but the boy either doesn’t feel it or doesn’t seem to care. It doesn’t make him let go. He lets out a sound of anger, pawing the boy to release him, let him be, but the boy just won’t let go.

“That animal is dangerous,” the old man seethes. “He's going to tear that boy apart.” He seems to be talking to the man behind him, the one with the scent close to the boy. The boy’s father, no doubt, “Is that what you want, sheriff? Tell him to stand down or I’ll be forced to-”

“I already told you I’d take him,” the boy’s anger is so strong, it’s nearly overpowering everything else. “Dad, just let me take care of him,” he looks at the other man and adds, “I won’t let you kill him.”

“Stiles, I-” the boy’s father is uncertain and his smell is somewhere between fear and confusion. “This is madness, son. You can’t just-”

“I can and I did. And he’s not rabid, he’s hungry. Dammit, look how skinny he is. I bet with a few meals he’ll be--perfectly fine.” The boy is lying or at least bluffing and his flushed cheeks and hurried breaths make it obvious his heart may be working too fast to be normal.

“This is a disgrace, that animal is--”

The grip on him tightens and he gives a low huff of warning. The boy is too close and his concerned face is almost too much to bear. Everything blurs in and out and words are spoken he no longer hears. The boy pushes closer, petting his face and saying words, even as his scent begins to fade.

“Hey, come on boy, stay with me now. Don’t--oh god! Dad, dad!”

And the whole world falls away and the arms around him become smaller and more gentle. A female voice coos in his ear. “Such a good boy, Derek. Such a good, good boy.” He wants to cuddle in her arms and believe her words, but he knows they aren’t true.

They never were.

* * *

When the wolf collapses in his arm, Stiles is sure he's dead. The animal deflates in one exhausted breath and becomes a stiff pile of bones that hangs all too stiffly beneath him. Stiles’ heart grips in his throat and he exclaims, patting the wolf to be sure, “Dad, he's-I think he's.”

“Stiles,” John is looking so close to relieved, but Stiles is too panicked to be annoyed. How could he gain a wolf and lose him, all in the span of five minutes? “Son, it's for the best. He clearly wasn't well.” The last word falls as if the man meant to say something else but censored himself. His hand clasps Stiles’ shoulder in comfort.

“The gods have granted the beast mercy. Consider it a blessing, boy.”

Stiles would consider Roscoe knocking the Lord Argent’s teeth out a blessing.

“We should set out some wood and burn the corpse.”

John looks alarmed at the idea, “Sir, shouldn't he be given a proper wolf funeral?”

“Sheriff, the fewer questions asked the better, don't you think? What would the people think of seeing such a creature?”

Stiles studies said creature, brushing his fur slightly as he contemplates what the animal would look like were it not a haggard pile of skin and bones. It’s hard to imagine with how tangled and unbrushed his fur is that the animal could be anything magnificent, but still, he hates to think the poor thing might have suffered, “I’m sorry, Wolfie I tried,” he whispers.

He receives no response of course, but there is a steady thump that makes him blink. One steady thump, followed by another and another and…”You’re not dead,” he murmurs, his mouth ticking upward. “Oh, thank god.”

Old bag of bones wolfie might pull through yet.

“Dad, we have to get him back. He isn’t dead.” He doesn’t miss the shift in his father’s face. “Dad, it’s our duty to protect them, right? What would you do if this was Jordan?”

“Stiles, that’s different.”

Stiles ignores the reply, “I think we can get him on Roscoe. He weighs basically nothing.”

Roscoe snorts at the sound of her name and glares at the wolf in Stiles’s arms. She stomps a hoof as if she’s aware of his plans and will have nothing to do with them, “Oh come on, girl, I’ll give you an extra carrot tonight. Promise.”

The horse flickers an ear and looks away.

Stiles smiles pleadingly at the old, scarred up mare, “It’s just this one time, baby, promise. Just the one, okay?”

The horse side-eyes him as if to say he better not be lying.

Stiles isn’t. In fact, he’s pretty set on this wolf being much too heavy for Roscoe in no time at all.

If he can manage it.

"Stiles." His dad's tone is one of resignation as Stiles hands him the wolf to help get him on the horse.

Behind them both, Gerard's face tightens.

* * *

“Severely malnourished, dehydrated,” Two nearly black eyes look at him with a mix of scorn and the unmovable dark mask that is the wolf healer. Stiles doesn’t get Alan Deaton’s confusing vibe or why the man is always so condescending, yet composed. Everything about him is mysterious in a way that has always rubbed Stiles the wrong way. Now the man is observing Stiles’ newfound wolf as if Stiles himself were the culprit of the damage done to the animal. “This wolf has been denied any proper treatment for quite some time.”

“I found him like this,” Stiles bristles, knuckles white on the examination table. Scott, Deaton's helper, is trying not to look like he’s wondering who has body swapped with his best friend and brought home the scrappiest looking wolf anyone has ever seen.

Isaac sniffs at the table before licking Scott’s hand. The large wolf dances in between the boy’s legs, his wide body causing Scott’s legs to move further apart. He whines and paws at his master’s leg. “He’s worried about him.”

The healer observes the emaciated wolf's teeth, going from one side to the other, “Indeed. It’s overstimulation to his mind. He’s never seen anything like this and frankly, neither have I.”

“Can you help him, or not?” Stiles may be a bit crabby, but he’s aware the wolf is in need. He’s not sure why he’s angry or thinks people are accusing him, but Deaton always puts him off slightly. And seeing the size difference between Isaac and the wolf on the table--

“Help him? Mr, Stilinski, I don’t think you understand how this works. A neglected wolf isn’t something I see often so I can’t say I even know where to begin in such a process. If you ask me the only way to ‘help him’ is to--see he’s taken care of. I just--” dark brows pinch. “I hope it’s not too late.”

Stiles tries not to gulp too loudly. His heart flutters, “Too late? He’s not going to die, is he?”

“He’s getting fluids and assuming he starts eating he should be fine, but the deep neglect of a wolf such as this, it could have--consequences. Consequences I’m not sure anyone here is equipped to handle.”

“We’re not killing him,” Stiles states through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t say anything about killing him, I do have to warn, however, that it appears this wolf may already have an owner,” Deaton frowns as he prods at something on the wolf’s limp exposed neck. “A rather possessive one at that.”

Scott leans to observe what his teacher is moving the wolf’s hair to see. It’s not a gigantic blistering red mark that Stiles is sure anyone could see right away, but it’s still there. Right on the side of the wolf’s neck.

“Is that a--” Stiles feels sick and he’s sure he’s going to vomit. The marked flesh has no fur on it, but given the knots and cuts already lining the animal’s body, even as it tried desperately to heal, it had been easy to miss.

“I’m afraid it is,” Deaton says solemnly.

“So he has an owner?” Stiles isn’t sure why he’s crushed as hard as he is. But his heart sinks at the idea that even after trying to help, he’ll have to hand this wolf back to an owner who mistreats him. Marks him. Who left a pronounces scarred A on the dark animal’s body. “This is...this can’t be allowed. That’s-”

“Mutilation and indeed it isn’t. Sheriff?” Deaton prompts.

It’s the first time John has spoken, “I--hell I don’t know, Alan, this is--if someone did this--”

“Then they don’t deserve him.”

“Stiles, this is unchartered waters, I was cautious before, but now I have to forbid it, this wolf is--”

“Mine!” Screw any other owner, this wolf had been alone, malnourished and had given Stiles an attitude. He wasn't rabid.

“Stiles,” he dad sounds exasperated and looks to have aged ten years in the last hour alone. There were jokes about how sons tended to drive their father’s into early graves, but Stiles intended to keep his father alive forever, despite being the reason for his many grey hairs.

“John, he will need to be rehabilitated,” Deaton informs before the sheriff can add whatever version of ‘no’ he was deciding to use on Stiles this time. “Even if he doesn’t claim him as an owner, Stiles could still be of help. A wolf still needs a human--and Stiles is the one of the few capable enough that doesn’t already possess a wolf.”

John stops and stares, he can think of no rebuttal.

“We can take precautions,” Deaton continues before turning back to Stiles. “This is going to be different than simply owning a wolf, you understand that?”

Stiles wants to roll his eyes at the patronizing tone, but he’s too afraid they might take the wolf and give it to someone else if he does, “Yeah, yeah.”

“This isn’t something to be taken lightly, Mr. Stilinski,” the dark man cautions again. “There could be consequences to any small thing you do and damage we have not yet seen.”

Did everyone think Stiles was an idiot? He’d seen the mark, he knew something bad had happened. He knew this wolf was by no means normal looking. He knew--and he sort of didn’t really care because he could and would help him get better. “I’m ready for it, okay? Just tell me he’s going to be okay.”

Deaton removes his coat and hangs it on the hanger, signaling the examination is over and they’ve done as much as they possibly can, “I’m sorry Mr. Stilinski, he will probably wake soon, but there’s no way in good conscience I can guarantee he’ll be okay.”

Stiles brow twitches but he has to admit, it’s a fair answer.

* * *

“Is this really necessary?”

The chains are heavy and honestly, Stiles isn’t even sure where they’ve come from. Chaining a wolf, it just--didn’t seem right.

“You want to do this crazy thing? Fine. It's not like I've ever been able to stop you anyway. But I’m going to do everything in my power to try and keep your ass alive,” John hisses.

His wolf Jordan gives a full-faced smile, making his near double chin a bit more pronounced, “I think you’re very brave for doing this, Stiles.”

The sheriff huffs at his pet, “Don’t encourage him.”

The wolf smirks as he tightens the last restraint, “Oh come on, you’re proud too, admit it.”

“I’m not proud. I’m afraid I’m going to wake up tomorrow and have no son.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m a lot more than he can digest right now,” Stiles deadpans.

The wolf seems delirious from the sedative he’d been given and seeing him up and moving makes Stiles feel a great deal better, but the animal pulls away from anyone’s attempts to pet him.

“Who would do something like this?” Jordan asks, sad that even his tries to touch the wolf make the animal move back further.

John grabs his pet's shoulder and shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

"It's horrible."

Stiles watches the wolf shake his head as if he doesn't know where to look or what to do. He makes small sounds, but Stiles hopes it's from annoyance and not pain.

He's pretty sure that's an understatement.

* * *

Deep into the night Stiles finally falls into a fitful slumber after hours of trying to convince the wolf to do...something other than turn his back to him and hide in the corner. Mumbling and moaning and having dreams he slips in and out of, Stiles’ sheets toss around him and he nearly flips off the bed in one of his more exaggerated turns, “--stupid wolf...why you gotta be...jerk...give me those eyes and be so rude...just trying to help...gonna kill whoever...hurt you.” His mumbling and half delirium is quickly stopped when he falls back to sleep, snoring loudly.

He doesn’t see the two hazel eyes staring at him. Glowing almost green in the sliver of light left in the room.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long and I'm not sure if I put this yet but italics is past tense if anyone is confused.

The room is cold and the ground beneath him chills his skin, causing goosebumps up and down his entire frame. The freeze runs through him so that it’s nearly painful. It would be an easy solution, relieving his discomfort. Still, he refuses to acknowledge the boy flapping around in his soft covers past a stony glance. His teeth grind and he growls at the idea that the bed with the strange human in it is calling to him.

His body is too small and the warmth he’s used to has been snuffed out with the leaving of the stability in his life. Food and comfort and love--the loss of it all has made him hard, too hard to be warm, or secure.

Or happy.

Shifted and not, he moves around for hours and can find no comfort. He curls closer in on himself, just begging to acquire some kind of warmth. It’s all so foreign and confusing and it angers him that he even considers the option of finding heat with a human. A strange human who is not his master and who might hurt him even worse. The boy’s eyes are earnest and he smells--not unpleasant, but he’s wrong and everything about him signals the wolf to not let him near him.

“Just trying to help-stupid wolf is-”

More mumbling. He refrains an eye roll. The boy really does talk to himself an awful lot. It’s odd. With his wild hair yet soft eyes, the boy is strange and the wolf is sure he can’t trust him.

He can’t trust anyone.

With a bit more strength, he could have broken the chains and escaped. He’d broken them before and was fairly certain these ones were a bit weaker, but at the moment, he’s too weak.

Too weak and alone.

A snort and another toss.

Okay, maybe not so alone. He shifts back, ready to bury back into himself, but this time the boy doesn’t stop. He flails about and the wolf gives more than one irritated growl, a small warning for the human to shut up. He isn’t sure where the annoyance comes from or why he even feels it, he’d never once growled at his master, but this boy angers him. His kind eyes and caring tone speak that he might care for his well being, and yet once again the wolf is in chains.  
  
Humans and chains, it seems something he inevitably endures one way or another. His stomach is emptier than it’s ever been and the pain almost cripples him. The human had offered food, even the other wolf had offered him a smile when he held the plate out to him. They had all tried several times to touch him, pet at his fur, but he wants none of it.

“I don’t-”

_A slap._

_“You don’t anything, do you, Derek?” She’s never looked so angry. Brown eyes piercing at him sharper than a knife as she attaches the chains. “You don’t attack, you don’t do anything I ask you too. You just want to sit around and be as fat and disgusting and useless as the rest of them. Fine, you can sit here and be useless then.”_

_“But-” He doesn’t understand, hurting humans, she’s never asked him to do this before. Why now? Why suddenly was everything different? “I thought that’s what you-wanted.”_

_She scoffs, “You have no idea what I want sweetie, but it sure as hell wasn’t and isn’t you.”_

Wasn’t. Isn’t. It was never him. She’d locked him away and left. Chained and cold just as he is now.

The wolf tries once again to close his eyes, to not glare at every motion the boisterous boy on the bed makes. He can do neither.

The air is like ice and his belly is as empty as the space between the stars blinking through the window.

Derek is sure he will never sleep peacefully again.

\---

Isaac is giving him the biggest blue-eyed stare as he arches a brow at Stiles’ hovering hand. Apples, grapes, meats, a pasty roll as big as a wolf’s head. Which one to choose? His long fingers search each item as Stiles looks down at the empty plate, unsure. Why the hell was he so conflicted about all this?

Oh right, he had a prickly wolf in his room that had refused to even look at him.

“Here.” Isaac hands him a pork flank. “I’ve never known a wolf to turn down pig. And trust me, it’s delicious”

Stiles turns the object over and watches as the juices plop on the china plate. Isaac eyes it hungrily as he bites into a pumpernickel loaf. Probably to stop himself from licking the juice from the plate himself. Stiles sighs, “You’ve clearly never met this wolf.”

“He still won’t eat?” Scott asks, placing a hand fondly through his wolf’s hair. Isaac nuzzles it in return.

Their happiness makes Stiles want to stab the meat to the bone. Repeatedly.

“Dude, he barely blinks. He just--sits there,” Stiles tries not to sound frustrated, but truly he is. Frustrated beyond words. “It’s been three days and all I can do is get him to drink a little water from a bowel. I’m afraid he’s going to starve at this rate.”

“Starve?” Isaac looks horrified at the thought. His plump thighs shift underneath his soft belly as he whimpers.

“Don’t worry, baby, no one is going to starve,” Scott assures him, pushing another bite of the roll at him which Isaac readily takes. He looks back to Stiles, brown eyes serious. “Just try again. I mean--”

“I have tried, Scott. Shit, I’ve tried everything I can think of. He doesn’t want any of it.”

“Deaton did say you would have to work with him, remember?”

“I’m not an idiot, Scott.” He’d heard what the unsettling healer had said. Stiles had just never imagined a wolf not wanting to eat. Usually, it was a case of trying to keep the shifters out of the kitchen, not trying to force food down their throats. Wolves were known for not leaving a crumb and so far Stiles had yet to see his wolf eat even one ounce of food.

“He’ll have to eat eventually, right?” Scott tries to assure.

It’s hard watching all the wolves at the tables in the hall. It’s hard to watch them eat, some leisurely and slow, others ferocious and fast, but all looking so happy. All while Stiles has a lump of black fur that barely breathes and mostly just stares at the wall.

It truly sucks.

“And I mean there’s a lot of ways you two can try to bond.” Scott moves a stray blonde curl from Isaac's forehead as if to make his point. “Have you tried brushing him?”

“He needs a bath,” Stiles grumbles. “Honestly, he has more tangles than I would even know what to do with.” That and being out in the woods, yeah the animal could definitely do with a cleaner smell. “I’d probably break the brush.”

“I love baths,” Isaac exclaims. Stiles can almost see his tail swishing back and forth in excitement. “Every wolf does. I’m sure he will too.”

“Yeah.” Stiles wonders how much of Isaac’s baths are just finding a reason to get naked in the tub with his master. He and Scott were known to leave quite the mess. “I mean, it might make him feel a little better.”

“Always makes me feel better,” Isaac agrees.

“But I mean, you haven’t...seen him?”

Stiles’ lips pull and he looks at his best friend with annoyance, “No Scottie, I haven’t seen him.” And now he’s on the broader side of pissy because Scott has a pretty, plump wolf he gets to see and Stiles doesn’t have any idea what kind of man his shifter is under all those knots. He piles food on the plate, knowing he’s being a bit sourer than the question probably deserves but it’s irritating how bad he is at all this. Scott and Isaac, all the other wolves and masters around them, Stiles fits in with none of them having a wolf that barely acknowledges he exists.

“I remember the first time I saw Isaac.”

“You know what, Scott, save it for the memoir, alright? Because I really don’t want to hear it right now.”

“It’s a special moment, Stiles.”

“A special moment will be the moment he looks at me period,” Stiles grumbles.

“Dude-”

“It’s fine. Like you said. He has to eat,” Stiles gulps over the word. “Eventually.”

Scott nods, “And maybe a bath isn’t such a bad idea. From my experience, a clean wolf is also a very happy one.”

Stiles considers Isaac’s shiny hair with a contemplative brow, “Hm-maybe.” The wolf couldn’t be happy with all those knots and tangles. Maybe cleaning him up was a better start than the food. Maybe if the wolf felt more at ease, cleaner he’d even eat a little.

“I should get him a collar,” Stiles mumbles as his mind lists the things he really hasn’t done for his wolf (and yes, this is his wolf, rules of previous owners and such be damned). And then he remembers the ugly, scarred brand and his stomach bottoms. Maybe the wolf was afraid of people for a reason. No, that wasn’t a maybe, that was an obvious yes, but how could Stiles show the shifter that he was safe with him?

Stiles contemplates the plate in his hand, knowing the animal will refuse it. Haggard and dirty as he is the wolf will look right past him if he looks at him at all

Maybe a bath wasn’t a bad place to start.

\--

“Dammit,”

Okay so maybe a bath was a horribly, horrible place to start. Of course, HIS wolf wouldn’t want to be brushed and cleaned and doted upon.

“Come on.”

Of course, his wolf would turn tail as soon as he landed in the tub filled with the soapy water. Of course, Stiles would trip on the giant puddles the shifter left behind as it took off god knows where, landing into Lydia and her wolf Jackson, the later who sneered at his appearance.

“Stiles-what on earth are you-?”

“Not now, Lyds,” he tosses as he runs past, leaving water and questioning looks in his wake. Why he’s even chasing the wolf he doesn’t know, the animal clearly wants nothing to do with him. Stiles is pretty sure the only reason he’d coerced him into the baths in the first place was because the wolf seemed slightly delirious and had been ridiculously easy to move. Skin and bones didn’t weigh much, but the idea of a human carrying a wolf was preposterous. Except, Stiles had done it, all while ignoring the odd comments at his back.

But once in the tub the animal had yipped, growled and darted right through Stiles’ legs.

And boy for a malnourished back of bones, old wolfie was fast.

So fast, he’d almost alluded Stiles except the giant piles of water trailing the carpets on the floor were sort of a giveaway.

“Shit.”

Stiles goes from nearly face planting Lydia Martin and her massive, pouty wolf, to colliding with someone much worse--his father. John’s grey eyes boggle as he catches Stiles with a murmured ‘what the hell’, just as Stiles sees the wolf has been found by none other than Gerard Argent.

Shit.

The old man has the wolf cornered and thankfully no one is around to see the scene, but Stiles not only doesn’t like the look Gerard is giving his pet, but he’s also not sure who’s growling, him or the wolf.

“Stiles,” his dad admonishes.

Must be him.

“I was under the impression this creature was chained up until he could be properly rehabilitated,” Gerard states. His eyes are like knives as he scans the wolf up and down with an ugly frown. “I’d say from the looks of things, you’ve managed to make him worse, not better.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Doesn’t seem to be much progressing, as I said. Maybe some wolves just can’t be fixed.”

“He’s-”

“Stiles, you’re supposed to be keeping him in check,” his dad rebukes softly. “The Lord is looking for any reason to see him as a threat.” It’s a warning, one Stiles doesn’t take lightly. “Why is he out here--and better yet, why is he wet?”

“It’s fine,” Stiles assures him. “He likes to play tag is all.”

His dad breathes heavily at the lie. As if any wolf in the kingdom moved fast enough for tag. Not that a wolf couldn’t move fast, but they rarely wanted to.

Stiles scoffs at the look on his father's face, “So he’s different, that doesn’t mean he’s dangerous. Right--um--” And Stiles realizes one important thing.

“You still don’t know his name?” Gerard asks through a tight, almost condescending smirk. “I’m beginning to think the taking of this creature was perhaps a bit too much for you, boy.”

“It’s not, we’re taking it slow, that’s all.”

“Well, I suggest you take it back to your room until it can learn to behave. I do not wish to see something like this again. Until he can behave he is not to be around other wolves.”

“Fine,” Stiles agrees, glad the wolf at least doesn’t fight him when he picks him up. Gerard eyes the motion and even his dad stiffly shakes his head to indicate Stiles isn’t helping by showing he can still carry the wolf with ease.

Stiles ignores the chatter and the wolf stares blanky as they head back to his room, “Next time I’ll just let you smell like death and be loaded with tangles. No skin off my back.” he grumbles to the wolf.

Whom he is sure just simply ignores him.

\--

Stiles takes his own bath later on angry and yet also defeated. He avoids Scott for the rest of the day, not ready to admit his failures at being the world’s worst master only a few days into owning his pet. He should write a novel of his failures as it just wasn't working, none of it. The food, the bath, the attempts at affection, the wolf just didn’t want anything and Stiles didn’t understand. Wolves wanted to be cozy and comfortable and happy. They deserved to be. How is Stiles supposed to deal with the one wolf who seems to want none of those things? Despite thinking himself brilliant-Stiles is no miracle worker.

Angrily toweling his hair off as he dresses, Stiles marches through the halls. He thinks about stopping by the kitchens to maybe get some food but simply doesn’t see the point. It’s not as if grumpy paws will eat any of it.

“Great idea, Stiles, bring home the stray wolf. What’s the worst that could happen?” Except even after being rejected and treated like his existence meant nothing, Stiles is still convinced he’d have taken the wolf again in a heartbeat.

Which really makes not a lick of sense. Stiles can’t even say the animal appeals to him. He’s not pretty with a shiny coat like Isaac or well-tempered like Boyd. He's just mangy and hateful.

Stiles stops just inside his bedroom door as he thinks.

Could he be pretty though? Was it possible? Could the black bony wolf have sharp cheekbones and large eyebrows and eyelashes that flutter over flushed cheeks and a perfectly shaped nose? Could his complexion be creamy smooth if slightly pale? Could he be what appears to be a relatively tall man curled up under one of Stiles’ blankets?

Stiles blinks.

His bag of soaps falls and hits the floor just as a pair of eyes flashes open to look at him.

No, not look.

Glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @-@


	4. Chapter 4

The boy’s agitation had been obvious as he’d tossed a plate of food on top of a dresser in anger. Derek’s stomach had rumbled at the aroma, his body aching to partake in what smelled to be some form of pork, but he’d refused to accept anything from the plate, turning away to the human's groans of annoyance.

“You have to eat eventually, sourwolf.”

A small snarl at that.

“Oh, so you can understand me?” Tiredness and a hint of sarcasm laced the question. “Here I was thinking I was talking to myself all this time.” A snort and a sigh and the boy had finally relented, “Maybe the bath was a bad idea, after all. Though dear god, do you smell like shit. How long were you in that forest, anyway?”

Days, weeks, months, it didn’t matter. Derek flicked his tail and continued to look at the floorboards.

The boy sighed, “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll leave you alone, but at least drink something, will you?”

Derek hadn’t. He hadn’t touched the food or water and watching the boy sigh as he departed with his bathing items, Derek was happy to be alone.

Baths brought about memories he had no time or energy for. More memories of Kate that haunted him more and more the longer he smelled the scent of humans again. The scent of pleased, happy wolves was almost alarming to his senses.

The boy hadn’t chained him before leaving. Derek at first thought of escape, of putting the poor, deluded human out his misery that Derek was a wolf worth caring for. But he knew he wouldn’t get far. His energy was too low, his body ached and a fierce coldness had filled his entire chest.

He hadn’t meant to crawl to the bed. Derek only saw it as warmth, as a way to end the icy cold threatening to shake his whole form. He’d leave before the boy got back, he’d gain energy and try his way out the window.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

\--

Waking to the sound of a gasp, Derek opens his eyes. Everything is blurry and unfocused. He forgets where he is a moment, glaring at the human he can’t make out for interrupting him. For surprising him and for being in his space. He growls before realizing his growl is a word. A human word. Somewhere between a get out and go away.

“Oh my god! You're---oh my god!” The boy fumbles and fumbles, trying to latch his spastic body onto anything to keep himself upright. His mouth flops open and he seems to speak more gibberish than actual words. He manages to nearly fall on his own face in the most confusing display. Watching him makes Derek’s head hurt and he wheezes at him to stop.

The boy does, pushing flat against the closed door, eyes round and alarmed, “Oh my god, you’re sick! You’re--oh, my god.” He surges forward nearly tripping again and lays his palm on Derek’s forehead. The motion takes Derek by surprise so much that he almost bites the boy.

“Hey come on now, you’re--err,” The boy continues to pat his face awkwardly as the realization hits him. “I guess since you run hot, I can’t really tell if you have a fever or not.”

“Hm,” Derek agrees, but the sound is covered in a pain that ejects from his lungs.

“Coughing, coughing is very bad,” the boy muses to himself. His frantic hands shake. “Do wolves cough? Dammit, this can’t be good, why are coughing?”

Derek is not coughing, he’s not sick and he wants the boy off of him. His hand is too warm and he’s starting to smell too familiar, too concerned. Too nice. Derek wants more of his hand running down his face, soothing him, telling him it’ll be okay.

He rears back at the thought and buckles, startling the human to fumble back also, “Sorry, I was just trying to help. I--I really don’t know what I’m doing, but god,” the boy sounds so frantic and worried and Derek is both frightened and pulled to the emotion in his voice, “You sound so sick. I’m sorry, I just want to help.”

What comes out of Derek’s mouth starts as a whine of annoyance the boy is moving closer again. His scent is almost overpoweringly concerned and it’s hard to escape. It starts with a whine to tell the boy to move back and ends in a word he’d sworn never to utter again. A plea.

“Hu-.”

The human’s brow shoots up, “Huh, what?”

He doesn’t want to repeat it, but Derek can’t take it anymore. The coldness in his lungs, the emptiness in his belly. It hurts. “Hungry.”

It all hurts so much.

\--

Stiles stares wide-eyed for a moment, hearing the pain, seeing how the man pulls deeper into a ball as if both freezing and feeling pain in his gut. The wolf had to be starving. Starving to death?

Stiles moves. His foot grabs the edge of the bed frame and propels him to tumble into the nightstand, causing the drawer pulls to rattle. He clutches the object to keep it from falling (Or perhaps to keep himself upright) and breathes a sigh when he’s able to stabilize the piece of furniture. He reminds himself to think before moving, lest he kills himself in his crusade, and reaches for the plate he discarded earlier, now mostly cold and far too old to be appetizing. Beggars can’t be choosers, however, and he’s way too scared what he might come back to if he leaves to get anything fresh. The bread is probably still okay. And the fruit hasn’t been cut so it’s thankfully unspoiled. “If your bony butt had just let me feed you earlier,” he mumbles. He bites his lip and turns back. “I can’t say it’ll be all that good, but right now, bud, we don’t have much choice.”

Bud might be an ironic term as Stiles is pretty sure this man is at least a few years older than him. The wolf’s steely eyes watch him as he returns, careful not to spill anything. The man is clearly guarded.

But Stiles is ready. He sits on the bed’s edge and toys with the plate. His hand grabs a roll, hesitating a moment while studying the wolf with concerned eyes. He’s never done this before and he’s half tempted to shove it in the man’s mouth as fast as he can just to get the substance in quicker. There’s a bigger part of him that wants to be gentle though. The wolf had seemed to like being petted.

Stiles’ shaking fingers find the warm, pale skin, the too hollow cheeks, and the itchy stubble. Bony, everything is too sharp and bony. “What son of a bitch did this to you?” he whispers. Dark hair, almost ebony in color, so in need of washing, but Stiles doesn’t care. He runs his fingers across the man’s temple, sweeping down all the way to his pale lips. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” He can’t even stomach the seared in ‘A’ on the man’s neck. A twisted abomination of everything a wolf/human relationship stood for. Hideous against the otherwise creamy complexion. “I promise.”

If the wolf believes him, Stiles can’t say, but it is the first times he’s actually looked at him, instead of through him or to the side. His stare is, Stiles swallows, pretty damn mesmerizing.

“I also--won’t let you hurt yourself.” the man snorts. “I’m serious, and that means you have to eat,” Stiles’ voice softens and he holds the baked bread up in an offering. “Okay?”

The wolf grunts. Stiles expects resistance, for the wolf to turn his head or flat out refuse the food.

He doesn’t expect to nearly lose his fingers.  
“Oh my god!” he can feel the sharpened teeth against his skin. It doesn’t pierce the epidermis level but it’s close enough that Stiles nearly pulls his hand back. He surveys the damage and doesn’t see blood. “I am not on the menu.”

A growl and a clawed hand suddenly grabs Stiles’ wrist. A tongue darts out to lick at his fingers, wrapping between the digits, searching, looking for more. The searching moves and continues to Stiles' palm There’s a long swipe before the man whines. Stiles tries to swallow the lump in his throat, “Or maybe I am.”

The man moves Stiles’ hand so he can scent at it as he continues to lick. So fervently he mouths and licks at the skin, sending goosebumps all up and down Stiles’ spine, “Okay, okay, there’s more, I promise.” He grabs for the plate beside him as the man continues to lick. “God, you really were hungry, weren’t you?”

Another roll is devoured in a matter of seconds and Stiles is still being licked clean. A pear, an apple, a slice of cold ham, the wolf devours it all, one after another, all while continuing to lick and growl and gently run his teeth into Stiles’ palm. Stiles watches it all, licking his own lips as the juices from the fruit run down the man’s chin before he attacks Stiles hands for more. Sucking, nipping, growling. His stubble rubs against the softness of Stiles’ palms, prickly, but not overly sharp. Stiles hands him each item and pretty soon Stiles is sitting next to two fruit cores and not a crumb more.

Well. “Damn,” Stiles breathes. “That was.”

“More?” the man mumbles against the hand he still refuses to let go of.

“Yeah,” Stiles can hardly breathe and still the man continues to lick him. “I uh, I can get more.”

Dear god, he will he get more.

Lots and lots more.

—

“You planning on cleaning the place out, handsome?”

Stiles jumps, nearly losing the two plates he’s precariously juggling.

A pearly smile and wink cause him to groan.”Dammit Erica, how many times do I have to tell you to stop scaring me like that!”

Wolves could be very sneaky and even for their sizes—way too light-footed sometimes. Stiles is already jumpy and feeling hot and flushed in a way he can’t describe.

The blonde voluptuous wolf eyes his two plates with interest, “Does this mean you finally made a move on mystery wolf?”

Stiles scoffs, “He was hungry and I’m feeding him.”

“I thought he wasn’t eating?”

“Yeah, well now he is.”

Erica gives a sniff, then another and finally hums.

“Oh my god, what? Why are you sniffing me? Oh hell, why are you grinning?”

She leans in and rests her chin on his shoulder, purring, “You smell like sex.”

Oh god, was it that obvious? He knew he’d found the display more than a little thrilling, “Well sorry to inform you, but I think you’re sniffers in need of repair,” Stiles grumbles, trying to push her off.

She poked his cheek, “I think that cute little blush says otherwise.”

“It wasn’t sex, alright?”

“So a crush then? Lust?” Her lips pop over the word as she winks. Her heavy chest and wide hips push into him and Stiles really, really hopes her human Boyd isn’t around.

“Are you trying to get me killed?”

The girl laughs, “Oh please, you’ve never smelled even a fraction as enamored as you are right now. And it isn’t from me.”

Stiles readjust his plates, snapping, “Stop smelling me!”

“Stop stinking the room up with your passion.” She jokes.

“I’m not, oh my god, please stop!”

Erica relents and pulls back to look at him. “Your Dad was in here earlier. He seemed distressed.”

“When does he not?” Stiles asks with the slightest twinge of guilt. “Working for that ass would make anyone stressed.“

“And having a constantly disobedient son probably doesn’t help,” the girl counters. “For what it’s worth, I thought it was brave of you to save him.”

Stiles shakes his head, “Someone had to. He’s so thin and—“ the brand flashes in his mind, the matted hair, the gaunt face, “He’s been really mistreated.”

“Isaac told me. It really is awful, I can’t even imagine not having all of this.”

“I’m gonna help him.”

“Then here,” she slams a slice of cheese and another drumstick on his already loaded plate. “Really help him.”

“Err, Thanks.”

Erica’s smile drops as she looks at something over his shoulder. Stiles can already guess from the coldness he feels on his back, that Lord Argent is looking at him. He turns and the man has already turned away. But Stiles knows he was staring. Creepy old bastard.

Erica lowers her voice, “I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the Lord, but he always gives me a bad feeling. Funny how he always seems to be around anymore. For years, I thought he was only a legend.”

Stiles agrees. Feeling for some unknown reason like he needs to get back to his room as quickly as he can. “Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @@ Sorry for any mistakes. I’m not sure there will be more or not, just trying to clear some depression and wanted to write.


End file.
